Dial grimaced. “And so are you, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know. I just-”
“Come on, Marcus, use your head. Don’t waste your time on superficial bullshit. Focus on what’s important. Why would I place those two cards right next to each other?”
“Because they’re connected.”
“Right. And how are they connected?”
Andropoulos stared at the cards, struggling to find the link.
“Look at the card above. How do the dead monks connect to Nicolas and the Spartans?”
“Well,” he said, trying to talk his way through the process, “we don’t think that Nicolas is a Spartan, so we can rule that out.”
“Go on.”
“Actually, we aren’t quite sure who Nicolas is. Or why he was there.”
“But . . .”
“But . . . somehow he knew.”
Dial smiled. “Knew what?”
“Nicolas knew about the meeting. Somehow he knew when and where the meeting was being held. Just like the Spartans. They knew about the meeting, too.”
“Not only that,” Dial added, “Nicolas knew about the abbot’s death before we did. That means he knew the time, the place, and the guest list. That’s an awfully large chunk of information for someone to possess.”
“Which is why we’re going to Mount Athos. To look for Nicolas.”
Dial nodded. “Admittedly, the odds are pretty slim that we’ll find the guy. Mount Athos is large, and Nicolas probably looks like half the monks there. Still, I think it’s worth our time and effort. Especially after I saw that old photo of him at Holy Trinity. That cinched the trip for me.”
“Why, sir? Why is that picture so important?”
“Let me show you,” Dial said as he removed the photograph from a plastic sleeve designed to protect it. Theodore, the monk from the library, had been kind enough to lend it to them for their investigation. “Look at the people in this picture. What do they have in common?”
“Most of them are dead.”
“And how do you know that?”
“The picture was taken four decades ago, and the monks were already old back then.”
“Define old,” Dial ordered. “And you’d better watch your word choice.”
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to imply-”
Dial pointed to the oldest monk in the photo. “How old do you think he was?”
“I don’t know. Maybe seventy.”
“And what about this guy here?”
“Early sixties.”
“And this one?”
“Fifties.”
“Noticing a pattern?”
Andropoulos nodded. “Their ages are staggered.”
“Exactly. Seven monks, each of them born several years apart. Kind of interesting, huh?”
“In what way, sir?”
Dial sighed. He thought his point was rather obvious. “Take a look at the bulletin board.”
“Okay.”
He pointed to a single photo. Seven heads were stacked in a pyramid in the secret passageway underneath Holy Trinity. “Ignore the blood and the brutality. Focus on the faces. What can you tell me about these monks?”
Andropoulos stared at the image, trying to figure out the answer that Dial was looking for. Several seconds passed before it came to him. “The monks were different ages.”
“Exactly! Seven monks with staggered ages. Where have we seen that before?”
“In the other picture.”
“Not only that, but the abbot was in each one. He was a young monk in the old photo and the old monk in the new photo. Somehow I doubt that’s a coincidence.”
“I don’t get it, sir. Why would they stagger the ages?”
“Only one reason I can think of: succession.”
“Succession?”
Dial nodded. “The monks were trying to keep something alive, whether it was a secret or a tradition or whatever. The way I figure it is this. When one of the monks died, they brought a new one into the fold. That guaranteed a new generation to keep things going. Hell, they might have gone so far as to choose seven monks from different countries just to make sure that a natural disaster didn’t wipe them all out at once. That would explain the wide variety of faces in the photos. A new monk from a different place to keep something alive.”
“I’m confused, sir. What kind of something are you talking about?”
He tapped Andropoulos on his chest again. “That goes back to my earlier question. What were these monks discussing in an isolated monastery in the middle of the night?”
“Do you have any theories?”
“Of course I do. I always have theories. How many times do I have to tell you that?”